The ground quakes from the relentless thunder. Bolts of lightning flash, illuminating the tall stalks of sugarcane in the expansive field across from us.
“I’ll figure it out,” I say. “I got you.”
Shit. I don’t know how to fix this.
I ball my fists and look around, searching for weapons or any kind of solution.
The freezing air stirs harder. The trees in the far distance rustle and sway in response. Rain soaks Emma, making her beautiful brown skin shimmer in her thin yellow nightgown. She hunches over, clutching her ankle and crying out in pain again. Her curls spin wildly, forming a darkcloud above her. The wind whips coils against her high cheekbones and full lips. She winces. “Malcolm, when are we?” she asks. “Where?” Her voice barely carries over the storm’s roar.
My nose wrinkles as I recognize the smell.Sugar and dirt.My mind ticks back to my ancestor, Billy Lollis Davenport, talking about the distinct smell of Sabine’s plantation. Big-Mama had pictures of this place. She called it hell. The slave quarters, that white two-story plantation home with two stone chimneys, the freckles of blood always scattered across the columns.
“We’re back where it started, Emma,” I tell her.
Lightning strikes. I remember the computer saying we’d die here. The hard Louisiana rain soaks me, making my beige pajama top stick to my muscles like a scab.
My voice shakes. “Bet you dimes and dollars this is Grand Belle Island, 1860.”
Drenched to the bone, Emma shoots to her feet. “Oh, God!” she yells in the chilly darkness. “The picture of our broken bodies! Our blood in the dirt! It’s this dirt, Malcolm! It’s here!”
A raven flies overhead. A gust of chilly wind tosses Emma’s curls around her face. The top of her yellow nightdress clings to her frame, but the bottom frantically whips around her legs. Emma’s eyes dart wildly toward a thick fog, rolling in low through the weeping willows and into the sugarcane fields.
A full moon glares down, taunting us with its freedom and its distance from this place.
“This can’t be,” Emma whispers desperately. With a shiver, she adds, “This can’t be happening!” She wraps her arms around her drenched body.
I peel off my pajama shirt and place it over her trembling shoulders. Her eyes dart to the damp fabric before she glances at the rain cascading over the curves of my muscles. “Is this”—her confused eyes meet mine—“a nightmare?”
I take a deep, shaky breath. “I wish it was, Emma.”
“It’s a grave!” she cries out. “We’re standing on our ancestors’ graves! We need to go,now!” Emma pivots, eyeing the cane fields for a mystical exit sign. But if something or someone delivered us here, we aren’t getting outwithout a fight. I bend to pick up the tiny slave ship, finally letting Emma see it. “Maybe this can help us somehow?”
Emma’s eyes bulge. She yells, “Don’t you see? Our Tethers are burning… a slave ship, the plantation. It’s Sabine! That witch did this!”
I whip around, my heart thumping as I catch a glimpse of movement in the fields behind me. The haze bubbles and bends into the form of a woman walking through the grass separating the big house from the field. Her hair, red as flames, is done up in a wet messy bun. She’s ghostly pale, with piercing ice-blue eyes and sharp features contorted into an angry scowl. Lightning flashes above her, but her red heels still approach us like bloody spikes stabbing the earth.
Emma’s right. It’s gotta be Sabine.
“Weapons!” Emma shouts. “We need weapons!” She rushes to the porch.
I would rather have gone to the slave cabins in hopes that someone there could help, but it’s too late now. I can’t leave Emma alone up there. I rush after her.
“Look around!” Emma screams. “There’s gotta be something we can use against her!” Not seeing anything even close to a weapon, I stand in front of Emma to protect her as the witch looms closer.
Sabine’s eyes find us. They’re laced with crow’s-feet, probably from smiling at our pain. “Naughty children,” she says, nearing the porch. “Disobedience flows in your blood!”
“Evil is in yours,” I fire back.
Sabine’s eyes narrow. “Did you honestly believe there would be no consequences for your actions, attempting to avoid my Tether? Think you could taste the power without paying the price,jeune homme?”
I stand tall, refusing to back down. “Give back Demetri and Imani, or else!”
“Or else what?” Sabine laughs. “You’ll bore me with more empty threats?”
Emma shifts, moving to stand by my side. The sky flickers, and she pulls stardust from above. It cascades down and floats toward us before solidifying into a glowing silver snowball that she twirls above her palm. It castsshadows on her dainty fingers. Her eyes are fierce, beautiful, and ready to defend us. And I swear, I’ve never seen anything hotter.
Emma tosses the snowball of stardust at Sabine, who snaps her fingers and makes it vanish.
Looking at Emma, Sabine coos, “Someone’s been practicing their magic.” She smirks. “Not nearly enough, though.”
